Bruises and Bitemarks
by backwardsandforwards
Summary: See, the thing is, Puck is a werewolf - like, a badass creature of the night - and that's super wicked and everything. And, yeah, so what if Kurt is his mate? He's got more important things to worry about, like a possible werestalker. And Burt Hummel.
1. The Beginning

**_._**

There were three things that Noah Puckerman knows for sure.

One, he is a motherfucking badass. In fact, he is the badassest of all badasses. He is so badass that chicks soak their panties when he comes into view and nerds piss themselves and run.

Second, he is a werewolf. Even though his father was a complete deadbeat who never gave him anything (but not really, 'cause, really, who would want to stay with someone who wasn't their mate?), Puck did get his super fly, supernatural powers from said deadbeat father. Like, sure he left and everything, but you can forgive a guy when you can turn into a badass werewolf on command, right?

Being a werewolf just rocks up his badass factor from a perfect 10.0 to a raging 18.5. 'Cause, let's be honest, what's more badass than being a werewolf? Nothing, that's what.

And Puck really fucking loves being a werewolf. Sure, it kinda hurt when he started transforming, but after a while, he got used to it, but the pay off of going for a run is worth it. He's the king of the fucking forest when he's in were-mode, and he's even run with some of the wild packs that run around Lima. Puck loves the hunt, too. He loves finding and stalking his prey, timing the perfect moment to strike. He loves the feeling of his teeth tearing in flesh, and using his awesome, super-wolf strength to drag his prey to the ground.

So, yeah, Noah Puckerman is a badass werewolf, and he's got a damn fine life. He's the supreme ruler of the school, he can get any girl he wants, he makes all the nerds and geeks run for their lives, and he's a motherfucking werewolf.

Thirdly, Noah Puckerman, the most badass, alpha werewolf of all time, is mated to Kurt fucking Hummel.

**_._**

It was in ninth grade when Puck smelled it.

He'd just been sitting in his third period class (geography or history or some shit like that), pretending to listen to his teacher, when he'd smelled it.

_It_was fucking beautiful. Like warmth, and home, sex and chocolate, and the sun all wrapped up into one delicious scent. Jerking up in his seat, he scanned the room with narrowed eyes, trying to find the source. He'd scented the air deeply, before whipping his head around to his left.

There sitting two desks down, was Kurt the fairy Hummel. And he smelled motherfucking _delicious_. His scent was wafting towards Puck, drowning him in a scent that just screamed _mate_.

Puck's body tensed, his hands clenching the metal legs of his desk so hard he could feel it start to dent from the force. His head spun with need, his instincts screaming at him to lunge at Kurt and claim him before someone else touched him. And, Jesus _fuck_, the thought of someone touching Kurt exploded inside of him. Something snapped, something that demanded he mark Kurt in his scent, rub his nose against his neck and breathe in, maybe even bend him over the table and leave a dark bite on the back of his neck. Or maybe force him up against the wall, push his jeans down over his perky as shit ass and fuck the ever living Hell out of him.

The wolf in Puck growled appreciatively at the thought of that.

Getting through the rest of the day was the most difficult thing Puck had ever done. As soon as the bell had rung, Puck had scrambled from his seat and bolted for the door, elbowing people out of the way in his haste to put as much distance between Kurt fucking Hummel and himself.

His wolf cried out in anger and longing, as Puck threw open the front doors of McKinnley High School and sprinted all the way to his house. His lungs burned and the wold growled and howled as Puck forced himself to put as much distance between him and his mate.

_Mate_. Motherfucking mate. As in, Kurt fucking Hummel, his motherfucking mate.

Yeah, he was so fucked.

**_._**

As soon as Puck made it into his house, ignoring his mother's loud questioning, he raced down to the basement, threw himself against the wall and began to cuff the metal shackles around his wrists. He never had to do it before this, only on the night of the full moon when his instincts took over and demanded he run and eat and fuck and sleep. Not having the entire town of Lima hunting wolf was on his priorities, kinda number one on his list of _shit to do_.

Snapping the last cuff onto his wrist, he let his body lean forward, letting his full weight drop forward. The metal cuffs dug into his skin, which would probably leave bruises and marks because of how tight he had them. A slight creak from the wall behind him, but nothing more than that. He was relieved in a way. But he didn't fucking care. All he cared about was the fact that he was chained in his basement like a fucking animal, because of Kurt fucking Hummel.

Oh, Puck was more than fucked. He was super fucked, and not in a good way. Sure, Puck had listened to his mother bitch and moan about mates, and what they meant, but really, all Puck was really interested in was fucking, eating and sleeping. And maybe a little bit of quality time with Finn's new xBox. So, he hadn't really listened to what she was saying (and it was mostly about his father. _"__Really, Noah, I'll never understand your animal side. Mate, what the hell does that have to do with anything? What about_marriage_?"_). Most of what he did know was from the Internet – you could always trust Google for some answers.

Stumbling across ancient books from the native tribes in Canada had been fucking perfect. Apparently, a mate was perfection. And not just any fucking perfection; no, it was every male werewolf's own _perfection_. As in, someone that had been born, created, made specifically for him. In Puck's twelve-year-old mind, that was Goddamn perfect. Who wouldn't want that?

Until he kept reading.

Apparently, something his mother had neglected to mention to him was the extreme length of time in which a werewolf can live for. Yeah, apparently the bitch _didn't know_. As fucking if. From what he could gather, he was motherfucking immortal, for all intents and purposes.

And that was badass, right? Puck sure as fuck thought so.

And he kept reading. And reading. And reading. And suddenly, it didn't seem so badass anymore.

Okay, so he lived forever, that was nice and all. And the mate thing? That was pretty wicked awesome, too. Having the perfect person to live with for eternity? _Wicked. Awesome_. But, apparently, there was this thing, where you had to wait a couple hundred years for said mate.

No longer quite as wicked awesome.

So, since he had to wait _a few hundred years_for his fucking mate, Puck had pushed the thought of it from his mind and focused on normal stuff,. You know, porn, food and video games. Oh, and the occasional deer chase a through the woods at night. All Puck wanted to do was survive school and get the fuck out of Lima.

That, apparent-fucking-ly, was no longer his main priority. The moment he placed the scent (and, _Jesus_ fuck, that smelled _so good_. He could roll around in it, breathing in deeply and probably come from it) to Kurt Hummel, _his mate_, his thoughts had shifted from porn, food and xBox to claiming, marking and mating. A whole lot of mating, with finger-shaped bruises, and bitemarks and bowlegs in the morning.

Puck surged against his cuffs, the thought of fucking Kurt almost pushing him to over the edge. Chips of concrete fell to the floor with a_crack_. Puck forced himself to settle his thoughts, to push the idea of a naked Kurt, under him, to the back of his mind. Because, really, that wouldn't help his plan of _get the fuck away from Kurt_.

And it wasn't even the fact that Kurt was a guy. Sure, Puck liked boobs and stuff, but he'd made peace with the fact that he did find some guys really, really, _really _attractive. Out of all the people that could possibly be his mate, Puck considered himself lucky. He could have been mated to someone like Hudson, or, God forbid, Karofsky. Kurt was hot, and he was _Puck's_. As in, all Puck's. And he could admit that he'd checked out Kurt a time or two in the locker room, and he had a great ass. It was perky, pert and the perfect handful of ass. Puck had always been an ass kind of guy, and Kurt had a _perfect_ass.

So, yeah, Puck had lucked out on his mate and all, but there was the whole deal of _he had a mate_.

"Fuck," he growled, tugging hard on the cuffs linked to the wall. He could feel his wolf throwing itself against the cage of his mind, demanded it be released and allowed to go to his mate.

Fucking books never mentioned _this_. It felt as if he was raging a war inside himself, against himself. Nothing like this had ever happened before. The biggest fight he'd ever had with his wold was _deer or buck?_ and even that usually ended with a _both_. But this felt more like WW3 inside his head, and it hurt. His wolf was going insane, raging, growling and howling inside him, a demand for his mate. It pleaded with him, telling him his mate was unmarked and unprotected, where _anyone_could get to him, touch him, claim him. Puck had never felt more torn in his entire life. As much as he wanted to give into it's demands, he knew he wasn't stable enough not to try and rape Kurt.

And he'd hurt him, and that would kill Puck.

"Noah Puckerman! What the hell is going on?" his mother screamed from the top of the stairs. The sound of angry heels clacking on the hardwood distracted Puck enough to fall to the cold, concrete floor and take deep breaths. His head felt like it was going to exploded.

When Puck looked up, his mother was standing in front of him, arms crossed over her chest, an angry scowl on her face and an eyebrow cocked. "What the hell is going on?" she repeated, taking in the sight of her oldest child chained to the wall. Her eyes widened. "Is something wrong?" she demanded, hesitating to take a step forward.

Puck's breath was shaky as he croaked out a barely audible, "M-mate."

His mother's look of concern transformed almost immediately into one of anger, and her frown turned to a sneer.

"Poor girl," she muttered, rolling her eyes and throwing her arms up in the air. "I could handle the turning into an animal, Noah, but I am sick and tired of this. I can't deal with it. And you found a mate, huh? You gonna leave Santana for her? I don't understand your nature! You're _just like you're father_! Just up and leaving people because you can! You're an animal, Noah!"

That hit Puck hard. His eyes widened as he listened to his mother rant. He always knew that she'd never liked his were-side, and that she barely tolerated the late night hunts, but this was knew. He'd never guessed that she _hated_it.

He stared as she went on and on, switching from him to him father and back again. For a long time, Puck had blamed his father for leaving, but when he'd started to read about his true nature, he found himself unable to hate his father. 'Cause, honestly, daddy dearest may be a complete jackass how knocked up someone other than his mate, but, really, he couldn't blame him for leaving. Not only was his ma a completely bitch, she also wasn't his mate. And after the whole oh-my-God-Kurt's-my-mate-yo, he could understand. After having a taste of that, why the hell would you want anything else?

"Ma?" Puck croaked out, a shiver running down his spine as he suppressed another growl from his wolf. It was really starting to piss him off.

"Yes?" she snapped impatiently, crossing her arms over her chest once again.

"Do you hate me?" he asked, gritting his teeth as his wolf slammed against the cage in his head. Okay, so now it was _really_pissing him off.

Naomi Puckerman sighed, rubbing a hand over her eyes. "I don't hate you, Noah. I just don't know how to deal with this. I accept that this is what you are, but I can't understand, and to be honest, I really don't want to. And I know that you're my son, but I can't handle this. I don't know how to."

Puck stared at his mother for a moment, lesser shivers wracking his body. "Okay," he said softly, "I'll be gone by tonight."

The wolf in him had slowed, no longer raging, and now simply paced back and forth inside his head.

Naomi's eyes widened. "Noah, that's not what I -!"

"Yes, it is!" Puck snapped, baring his teeth at his mother. "I know you don't really accept this! You never have, and you don't hate me, but you don't love me either.

"That's not true, Noah."

"Yes, yes it is!" Noah stood, tensing his arms and snapping the shackles that held him in place. "Because I look like him! But guess what? I'm not fucking him! I'm sorry that he left you, but you can't blame me for his shit, okay? I might be a fuck up and make mistakes, but at least let them be _my_mistakes."

Puck began to walk to the stairs, brushing by his mother on his way out.

"Noah -"

He stopped at the bottom of the steps, not bothering to look at her. "What?"

"Your mate – what's her name?"

Puck stayed silent for a moment, before tossing over his shoulder, "His name's Kurt," and walking up the stairs and out of the house.

**_._**

He didn't remember how he ended up in front of the Hudson household, a bag of his belongings in hand and a blood stained t-shirt. His mother may have kicked him out (for all intents and purposes), but he could always crash on Carole's couch for a few days before leaving and finding somewhere else to sleep.

He didn't remember how he ended up on Carole Hudson's couch, crying into said woman's shirt as he explained his situation as best he could.

He did, however, remember Carole rubbing his back in affection and comfort as he calmed himself down, and he remembered the way Carole had whispered soothingly to him as he hiccuped his last words out. He remembered the way she'd gone to the small guest room and changed the sheets as he sat on the couch, trying his best to answer Finn's questions. He remembered extending his fangs for Finn, and growling at him when he asked if he chased his tail around like a dog.

He remembered later that night, after Carole had made Finn and him hot chocolate with marshmallows, as he'd sat on the bed, Carole gently telling him that no matter what he was or what he'd done, he'd always be welcomed in her and Finn's home.

After she'd left the room, Puck had emptied his bag in the dresser before changing into a pair of plaid sleeping pants and wife beater. Deciding his shirt was unsalvagable, he tossed it into the trash before crawling under the blankets. As his thoughts drifted back to Kurt, he smiled. Yeah, so he'd been kicked out of his home, but he had a mate now, and he'd always have a place in the Hudson household. And maybe Kurt didn't know it, but Puck was going to make sure that he spent the rest of his super long life making him happy, and always, always loving him.

He just had to figure out how, first.


	2. SWW  Single White Werewolf

**_._**  
>Puck groaned, his forehead smacking against the grey tiled wall of the Hudson's shower. He stretched one arm up to skim over the back of his head, before slipping his hand down to rub at the back of his neck. Pushing down on the muscle, he groaned, thinking about last night. While it hadn't gone exactly as Puck would've liked, it went better than he'd thought it would have. Both Carole and Finn had welcomed him into their home like he'd always belonged there, and he couldn't help but feel really fucking grateful.<p>

Puck's life had never been easy. Even when he was a kid, he'd been told that he was different -__strange, weird__- and that it was unacceptable to be himself (that kinda made sense to him, though. Like, he couldn't go around being all badass wolf everywhere, right?). His father (the bastard) had left his mother (the bitch. And really, if she wasn't such a bitch maybe he would have stuck around until she'd died), and then his mom had popped out his sister. Which of course, meant that Puck had raised Hannah until she could fend for herself because his bitch of a mother was too busy on the weekends to deal with her. And then the string of loser boyfriends that she let move in were just the fucking cherry to the sundae (seriously, __all__losers).

Puck would really love to pretend like his life was all fucking rainbows and butterflies and all that happy shit that people assume children grow up knowing about, but the truth was that he'd had a Goddamn hard life, and he wasn't about to play it down for anyone. He was a fucking werewolf (and as super-fucking-awesome as that was, being the only wolf that he knew was kinda lonely), his father had left when he'd been eight, his mother was a weekend alcoholic with a long line of losers that had all wanted to become the new Mr Puckerman. Raising Hannah hadn't exactly been a piece of cake, and trying to make ends meet when his mother decided to blow her pay check on booze and new clothes was a pain in his ass that he didn't need. And, yeah, so what if he had to resort to selling weed and pills to kids in school, he did what he needed to do. Balancing life had been really fucking hard, especially when he'd joined football at Finn's demand (Puck had been __much __more interested in soccer, but, nope, had to do what the big, stupid golden retriever wanted to do), but he still managed. Sometimes. Sleeping through Math in the nurse's room had become the only time he'd actually _managed _to sleep since he'd started high school. Fight club had been one of his only escapes, and yeah, if the winnings he earned (because he __never__lost) helped with paying for shit for Hannah, he was okay with it. Pretending to get the shit beat out of him for ten minutes was worth the five hundred he usually made from each fight.

He groaned again, tipping his head up to feel the hot spray of the shower on his face. His life was a fucking mess of what it was before. At least he'd lived with his mother and could at least pretend that she didn't hate him. Well, okay, so she said that she'd always love him, but didn't that mean accepting him for who he was? He was a fucking_werewolf_, and it wasn't like it was such a surprise to her. She knew that his dead-beat father was a wolf before they go hitched, so why the fuck was it a problem now? Puck shook his head, reaching for the soap (Finn's, of course, because as much as he liked Carole, he couldn't stand to smell like a fruit cake) and slicking the bar over his chest. He paused, frowning as he though back to the day before.

__"I could handle the turning into an animal, Noah, but I am sick and tired of this. I can't deal with it. And you found a mate, huh? You gonna leave Santana for her? I don't understand your nature! You're just like you're father! Just up and leaving people because you can! You're an animal, Noah!"__

A slick, soaped-up hand pressed to his chest, Puck swallowed harshly. Yeah, he knew that his mother had always resented him for looking like his father and for everything that his father had done, but it wasn't like it was Puck's fault. Puck hadn't been the one to not tell her about mates and what they mean, and marry her anyways. Puck hadn't been the one who had had two kids with her, and not told her about the consequences of doing so (walking in of him and his dad in wolf form snuggling in the backyard had been weird to her). Puck hadn't been the one to leave during the middle of the night, without so much as a goodbye. It didn't matter what the truth was, Naomi Puckerman did blamed her only son for everything his father had ever done. And Puck could deal with that, the yelling and the blaming and the insults, and he stayed because he had to protect Hannah. It'd always been so back and forth with his mother; one day she'd be yelling at him for being a complete failure, and the next she'd be washing his hair and making him challah. And then they'd be back at it, throwing insults at each other and Puck trying to keep it as quiet as possible for Hannah's sake.

And then, of course, there was the beauty of Kurt fucking Hummel. When he'd gone to Carole's house, he'd skipped that little tidbit of a detail, for a couple of really good reasons.

Reason number one; Puck wasn't sure what the fuck he was going to do about this whole mate deal. It had kinda just sprung up on him, and he hadn't exactly figured out what the fuck he was going to do. Like, he knew he wanted in Kurt's pants and whatever, but he hadn't figured out how to do that without getting the shit kicked out of him by the football team. Puck would like to believe that he was the most badass of all badasses, but he knew it wasn't even close to being true. He was a freshmen, and, sure, he was pretty much tough shit in his grade, but compared to everyone else in his school? Not so much. Not only did he have to find a way to __not__get his ass beat for being a fairy, but he had to find a way to protect his mate, too (he'd be fucking __damned __before he let anyone hurt Kurt again).

Reason number two: it wasn't any of their business. Sure, they should know about the raised body temperature and the whole turning-into-a-werewolf thing, but the whole mated-to-the-town-fairy wasn't really as important. Well, for them anyway. To Puck, Kurt was really fucking important. And getting into his skin-tight jeans was number one on Puck's _list of shit to do before graduation_.

Reason number three: Finn, for everything that he was (dumb and tall and all that jazz), was more homophobic than the minister that lived beside him. Puck had never been quite sure why Finn was so anti-homo, 'cause he'd never had a problem with it. Picking on Kurt came with the territory of being Lima's number one badass, and having a thing for dick didn't really help. So, he'd kept that to himself, instead of sharing with Finn like he did with everything else. If Finn wanted to be a complete and utter dickwad over Puck wanting into Kurt's pants, then he could go fuck himself. Kurt was number one priority, and even if Finn never physically bullied him for being a homo, he wasn't going to let Finn insult his mate over something as stupid as that. 'Cause, honestly, it's not like Kurt would want _Finn_; he was like a giant, dumb golden retriever. Kurt clearly had amazing taste (which had to include Puck's guns), because he had an amazingly hot mate with a a killer bod.

So, yeah, Puck hadn't exactly come out and said that he was going to be focused on getting into Hummel's super-tight pants for the rest of his life, but, whatever. He'd told them he was a fucking werewolf, for God's sake. As in, he turned into a superfly, super-badass creature of the night (not those fucking sissy, sparkly-ass vampires. However, Puck _had _done a little research, and apparently, the majority of vampires that were left on the planet were living in Finland – and none of them sparkled) sometimes, was capable of viciously tearing apart a fucking live cow, tracking prey across three regions and still has time to have a little nap in the woods before the morning. So what that he omitted a few minor details (well, to be fair, Kurt wasn't exactly a _minor _detail. More like Puck's whole fucking universe, at the moment)? It wasn't like he hadn't been honest. Talking about Kurt and mating and all that shit was a bit of an over share for the first night in the chateau Hudson.

Puck stepped back into the spray of water, rinsing the soap from his body. He still had that one issue, one current, prominent issue that was sticking the the inside of his mind and making his dick hard when he thought about. Kurt Hummel was his mate. He was Kurt's mate, and he had no fucking idea what to do about it. It wasn't like he could just walk up to Kurt and be like, "yo, I'm a super-awesome werewolf, and you're my mate/boyfriend/husband/person-who-I-will-be-with-forever-dealio". And it wasn't even like he could just ask him on a date. He'd probably just think that Puck was fucking with him. Puck had always been one of those dumbasses that'd throw Kurt into a dumpster or toss a slushie in his face. Yeah, he could see a big, old go-fuck-yourself-you-neandrathal he'd get from Kurt if he asked him out. And even if Kurt agreed to go out with him and he managed to wiggle his way into Kurt's pants, it wasn't like they weren't going to get hell for being boyfriends or whatever.

Slipping a hand down his ripped torso, curling his fingers past his pubes and around his dick. He glanced down, only mildly surprised to find himself half-hard. He'd had a fucking hell of a time trying to keep his cool after he'd settled down for sleep the night before, popping a boner at the thought of Kurt and super-awesome ass. 'Cause, honestly, Kurt had the most __amazing __ass, like, ever. Thinking about that awesome ass, and those legs and those cock-sucking lips _had _forced Puck to jerk off, and he hadn't had to jerk off since he'd started dating Santana, but the thought of going to Santana made Puck feel sick to his stomach. Thinking about anyone but Kurt made him feel sick, actually. Like, pounding headache, gut-wrenching nausea kind of sick. He'd been a little freaked out at first, 'cause usually thinking about Santana's tits and cunt didn't make him sick, but he just assumed it was part of the whole mate thing. Thinking about other people wouldn't really work out if he was supposed to be with Kurt for all eternity, or whatever.

This morning he'd even had a wank. And it wasn't even like those good-morning-to-you-morning-boner wanks, it was a might-as-well-try-and-get-this-out-of-the-way-because-as-soon-as-I-see-Kurt-I'm-gonna-fucking-lose-it wanks. Yeah, he had those, apparently.

Puck glanced down at his dick, using his thumb to nudge down foreskin to expose the smooth, pink glans, rolling his thumb over it. (Jewish Puck may be, but he was also werewolf, meaning he had super-healing, which his mother hadn't been informed of before trying to circumcise him. Stupid bitch.) Puck breathed in deeply, bracing his forearm against the tiled wall and resting his forehead against it, wetting his lips as he thought of smaller, softer hands loosely gripping his cock. Closing his eyes, Puck slid his hand down his cock, squeezing slightly at the base as he thought of a naked and wet Kurt jacking him off. He dug his thumb iunderneath the head of his cock, imagining Kurt's small fingers rubbing slow circles around his frenulum, pressing hot kisses to Puck's neck as he jacked him off, sliding his hand up and down his dick, and twisting at the head. He imagined Kurt's fingers tangling into the pubes surrounding his balls, curling around each teste to squeeze gently, rolling them around in his hand, kneading them softly with his fingertips.

He could see Kurt falling to his knees in the shower, hand still cupping Puck's balls, and slipping his mouth around his dick, suck softly on the head, running his free hand up and down his shaft. Puck groaned, using his thumb to spread the pre-come that dribbled out of the slit at the head of his dick, smoothing it down his cock before continuing to jack off, thoughts of Kurt's hot, warm mouth egging him on.

Puck knew that his mate would be so fucking good at giving head. He'd lick around the head first, maybe, before slipping it into his mouth, suck on it softly while the tip of his tongue traced Puck's slit, collecting the drops of pre-come that would spill from the tip. Kurt would have his eyes closed, his mouth working on Puck's dick like a vacuum, sucking harshly, so hard it almost hurt, and then softly, like he was afraid that he'd hurt him. Then he'd pull off, and give little kitten likes to the head, mouthing the shaft until he reached the base, then drag his tongue flatly up until he reached the tip, only to suck Puck's cock back into his mouth, once again sucking harshly, then softly, then licking.

"_Fuck_," Puck hissed, grasping the head of his cock harshly as he came, squeezing his eyes closed, the tightly wound coil in the pit of his stomach snapping, pleasure lashing up his spine and exploding behind his eyes with white-hot sparks. Puck's mouth fell open, a weird sound slipped out of his mouth and his legs trembled. His muscles were tense and strained, and it kind of fucking hurt, because,__shit__, he was totally getting a leg cramp. Puck's body slumped against the shower tiles, his muscles going from strained and tensed to relaxed and smooth in a matter of moments.

His wolf growled, rattling the cage inside his mind. It had been oddly quiet since his mother had pitched the bitch fit that's led to him living in Hudson's house. He hadn't really bothered questioned it, because, honestly, he was just fucking happy that it'd shut the fuck up after that whole growling-yowling-moaning-groaning that'd it'd done when he'd tucked tail and ran like a little bitch from Kurt. His wolf groaned in his head, stretching and moving about in it's cage, pacing back and forth with a feeling of anticipation on it's mind.

Puck knew all too well what it wanted. It wanted fucking out; it wanted to run and hunt and howl and hunt and run some more.

"Hey, Puck! You jerkin' off or something? Stop beating your meat and get the hell out! I need to shower!" Finn yelled from the other side of the door, pounding on it harshly.

Puck rolled his eyes as he turned of the water, looking down to watch the last bit of his come go down the drain. Fucking hell.

_**.**_

Puck rolled onto his back, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as he breathed in the deep scent of wood, mold and rain in the air. He kicked his right leg forward, watching as the jeans that were wrapped in a cord around his ankle stayed put, 'cause, really, the only shit that that retarded tween vampire book got right was that shit about clothes on wolves. Puck rolled onto his belly, shoving his muzzle into his paws and wagging his tail.

After Finn's little speech about wanking in the bathroom, and how it was cool and all, just don't take up all the hot water, Puck had changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, gone downstairs and told Carole that he was going for a run and that he'd be back later in the evening.

Carole had just stared at him like he was an idiot.

"Werewolf, remember? Don't exactly need shoes for that sh-stuff," he'd said, shrugging his shoulders and giving himself a mental pat on the back for not swearing in front of her. Carole's eyes had just kinda widened and she managed a "oooh", so Puck had taken that as his cue to leave.

Now, Puck lay on a mound of grass and moss about sixteen miles outside of Lima. He'd been running for more than a few fucking hours, and his legs had started to shake so he decided that here, on this dirty patch of grass, was an excellent place to lay. His wolf was a happy little shit, and had been really fucking pleased when Puck had merged their minds and let it take control for the first time in, like, six years. With a wagging tail and a lolling tongue, his wolf had taken control of his body and Puck went to sleep inside its head. Yeah, it was fucked up how he could do that, but it was kinda cool, too. The wolf side of him wasn't exactly separate, but it wasn't a part of him either. It was just_ there_.

Puck sniffed, raising his head and flaring his nostrils as he took in the deep scent of another wolf. He growled low in his throat, raising his body onto his paws and turning around. Standing between two large oak trees was a large black wolf, it's head cocked to the side, and it's mouth pulled back into an unmistakable grin, revealing sharp, pointed teeth. Puck's own mouth curled back, showing off his own sharp canines as he lunged at the black wolf, using his front paws to strike the other wolf at it's shoulders, pushing it onto it's back and landing firmly on top of it.

A loud growl ripped from the black wolf's throat and Puck let out his own growl, latching his sharp teeth into the furry neck of the wolf below him. Slowly, the fur receded and disappeared, being replaced by skin. Puck grinned, closing his eyes and thinking human thoughts.

The shift was never something you got used to. When it first started, it fucking hurt, 'cause hair grows and bones move and do weird shit, so yeah, it hurts. After so many years, Puck kinda got used to it. It no longer hurt, and felt more uncomfortable than anything else. He felt the shift of his bones, his spine shortening, his fur receding and his jaw cracking as his teeth moved. Puck found himself naked, with a pair of jeans tied to his left ankle, on another really naked dude.

"Dude! Get your teeth outta me!" Mike snapped, laughing as he shoved Puck off of him. Puck released his grip on Mike's neck, and rolled over, and began to untie the cord around his ankle. Mike sat up and did the same, not questioning Puck. Puck was all for nudity; he liked being naked, 'cause he looked sexy as fuck and was ripped, so why not be naked? And being naked in front of Mike wasn't a big deal; they were used to waking up beside each other in the buff. But now it just felt weird. Probably another mating quirk or whatever.

Once both boys were dressed, they sat in front of each other, Puck cracking his knuckles and getting used to being in a normal body and Mike just staring at him.

Puck raised an eyebrow. "Dude, you're freaking me out. Stop staring at me."

Mike shook his head, looking down at the ground. "I smelled it yesterday - in Math. Your scent changed."

Puck sighed, leaning back on his elbows. "I know."

Mike Chang was the closet thing to a brother that Puck would ever have, and he was almost as badass as him. Born into his little middle-class, Chinese American family, Mike probably hadn't known what the fuck a werewolf was until Puck had accidentally bitten him on the hand when they were wrestling. And so, the Changs had a part time wolf for a son.

"What was it? I mean, you smelled normal, and then - _bam_! You started to smell like - like, I don't even know. It smelled good, but too good, you know? Like I couldn't handle it," he said, leaning forward as he took a deep whiff of Puck. He wrinkled his nose and pulled bad quickly. "You smell funky, man. Like too many flowers."

Puck pulled a face. "Ew, dude, I smell like a _girl_?" Puck hissed in outrage, lifting one arm above his head to sniff his pit. It smelled normal enough to him.

Mike shook his head. "No, no, not like that! I mean, _like_ flowers, not actually flowers, you dumbass. You know when something smells good, but there's too much of it? Yeah, that."

Puck frowned and sniffed at himself again. He smelled normal; a little bit of wood and grass, a bit of rain and sweat. Y'know, normal. "Yeah, I don't smell it."

"Weird, dude. Do you think we should ask someone about it?" Mike asked, eyebrows raising as he thought of being around more wolves. The only other wolves that Mike had come into contact with were Grandma Puckerman and Puck's father, before he left.

"I might have to, yeah, but I'm pretty sure I smell like _flowers_," he gave Mike a pointed look, "because I found my mate."

Mike's eyebrows raised even higher and his mouth dropped open. "Dude! Sweet! Who is she? Santana? Wait, is it _Quinn_?" he asked, giving Puck a sly look. "You were going on and on about her last week, remember?"

But that was last week, and this was now and the rest of forever, or some shit. Last week was Quinn Fabray, blonde goody-two-shoes and Cheerio, and now was Kurt Hummel, resident fairy and boy-that-Puck-wants-to-fuck-the-shit-out-of. That was the thing, though. Puck had never told anyone else about his appreciation of other dudes. It was okay to talk about girls and how you want to touch their boobs, or whatever, but Puck was smart enough to know that you don't talk about wanting to suck some guy's dick with your very heterosexual friends.

"Um, yeah, Mike. Totally _not_ a girl - my mate, yeah?" Puck gave Mike a look that clearly said if-you-can't-deal-with-this-don't-say-jack-shit.

Mike just stared at Puck, squinting his eyes. "Can we even mate with dudes?"

"Listen, I went from wanting to slushie Kurt Hummel to wanting to bend him over a fucking desk - what do you think?" he growled, tossing himself backwards and throwing an arm over his eyes. He couldn't deal with this shit right now. His wolf had been whining all day, pleading with him to go find Kurt and kidnap him and just take him somewhere where they could be alone together, maybe forever. And honestly, Puck didn't really object to that idea. It was a simple mathematical equation. Puck plus Kurt equals happy; Puck minus Kurt equals sad, and angry and confused, and maybe even a little desperate.

"I don't really care that Hummel's a dude, 'kay? I'm just wondering! There's a lot of stuff that we don't know about weres, and I just kinda wanna add it to the book." Mike paused, smirking. "But, seriously, Kurt? Good luck trying to get into the Ice Queen's good graces. He's prissier than Quinn is."

Puck slid his arm off of his eyes, raising his head a little, and flipped Mike the bird. "I've totally got a plan."

"Really?"

"Nope. I've got nothing, jack-shit, nadda, zip, zero. He's not going to want anything to do with me! I like, make his life hell."

"Then make it not hell."

"How the fuck do you think I'm gonna do that?" Puck groaned, slamming his head against the ground in frustration. "What am I supposed to do? Beat the shit out of anyone who touches him?"

Mike was quiet for a moment. "Well, that could work. You're on your way to be the school badass, yes? I mean, Zack Stone is graduating this year, and the last big thing he did was get that junior preggo. So, just start upping him."

"What do you want me to do? Get someone pregnant?"

"I wouldn't try, I mean, Kurt probably wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole if you pulled that shit."

Puck sat up, leaning on his hands and gave Mike a cross look. "Thanks, it's not like he even wants to touch me now. I need a serious plan! Or a map. One that leads straight into Hummel's super-tight pants."

Mike grimaced at the image. "Too much info, there."

Puck flipped him the bird again. "I don't give a fuck, okay? He's mine, and if I want to be in his super-tight pants, I will be in his fucking super-tight pants."

"Whatever, 'kay? But it's not really Kurt you have to worry about right now."

"Mom kicked me out," Puck said, stretching out his legs, "don't have to worry about her blow shit outta proportion. I'm living with Finn right now."

"Not your mom, dude. I mean Santana."

Yep, it was official. Puck was super fucked.


	3. Author's Note

I know many of you will see this and think - whoa! An update? But, alas, I'm sorry to say that it is not. In truth, I have long ago lost interest in the Glee fandom altogether, which includes Puckurt. This tends to happen with me, as my mind wanders very easily - I blame my MBTI type, personally, while my mother will wholeheartedly disagree and call me lazy.

I have recevied many messages of late asking for me to update this story, and this is me saying that it simply won't happen. I've lost interest in the story, the characters, the fandom - the whole nine yards. If I were to continue it now, it would be half-assed at best, and wouldn't do the plot any justice, and more likely than not, piss off the fans.

If someone wishes to continue, be my guest. Simply shoot me a message, and I shall make a note of where you may find it.

I'm sorry for those who were waiting with bated breath for the next chapter, but it was simply not meant to be.

- Lumen


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